


Artificial Enemy

by anonemones



Series: Kageroutale [4]
Category: Kagerou Project, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, Gen, I DID IT I DID IT I DID IT, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, References to Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, i did it, kageroutale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 02:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10732500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonemones/pseuds/anonemones
Summary: This is not the best solutionAnd I know you know that.To drown in dark, withered days,Must no doubt be painful.If reality isn't a lie, then what is it? If you don't understand then..How about living together with meIn this world created by humans?





	Artificial Enemy

“Al. Get. Out.”

The words come out as a snarl, a threat laced behind them, but Al is unfazed, leaning against Sans’s computer monitor and smiling the widest grin she can manage. The sun’s low enough that it doesn’t leak through the thick curtains blocking out the windows, dusk evident from the three-days’ worth of bags under the skeleton’s eye sockets, and yet he continues to give her that pissy little glare of his that tries to come off as stern, but does nothing. It never has, not even when they’d first met two years ago.

She hums, feigning a pout. “Oh, but I like it here!” she giggles, rising to her feet. She gestures to his browser, which reveals snippets of news articles and photos that he’s bookmarked over the years. They detail various things, like petty theft and assault charges, but most of them revert to the same topics:

The King, who to this day has never been found;

The Royal Children, still recovering from unimaginable loss;

The Royal Scientist and his assistant, who, when spoken of and read about, gives Al the strangest déjà vu she can never quite place;

And, the one that shows up far more than any of the others, Papyrus.

She tries to come off as teasing—“Especially with all this reading material you’ve left me!”—but her chest settles with unease.

Sans, however, shows no unease nor does he show any anger. He sighs and leans back in his chair, narrowing his eyes, a frown firmly set in place. “Y’know,” he tells her, “if you really want me to stop bein’ a ‘lazy slob,’ as you put it, you should really stop distracting me when I’m trying to work.”

“Oh, come on, we _both_ know you’re not going to stop being lazy anytime soon! In fact, I’m pretty sure there’s not an ambitious bone in your _body_.”

“ _Oh_ , you’d be surprised. Now, shoo—or, whatever.” He makes a motion with his hands, gesturing off into space. Al’s smile grows smug. “Go to wherever you live, or somethin’.”

“…You mean your computer?”

Sans groans, “Get the fuck off the screen, Al.”

She laughs, but she does as he asks, but not because she wants to. She sits on his tabs, watching as he leans forward and clicks away, pulling up videos, folders. The works. She has to admit, when he gets focused like this, she can almost imagine him being some kind of detective.

 _That’s surely what it feels like_ , she thinks. _Poor guy—wasting his life like this. Doesn’t he realize this is all so pointless?_

There are many things Al likes about Sans, after all. He’s interested in science (particularly stars, she guesses, judging from the picture taped to his ceiling), he’s smart, rational (when he wants to be). Respectful, shockingly, and he’s not the kind to be a pushover; the kind of guy she’d date if he wasn’t a complete jackass. _Maybe that’s because Papyrus is gone, though…_

Chin in her hands, she wonders if that’s partially why he’s locked himself up in his room. _Wouldn’t surprise me any…doesn’t excuse the fact that if he wasn’t in here, he could actually be making something of himself right now. Hell, he could probably get a girlf—_

“ _Al, quit kicking! You’re deleting shit!_ ”

Al snaps back to reality, looking down. She sits on his desktop now, Sans’s arms crossed on the desk as if to say, “what the hell’s gotten into you?”

She stops swinging her legs, standing. “A-ha…whoops! I, ah, meant to do that?”

Sans narrows his eyes. It’s the best he can do with suspicion, considering he doesn’t have eyebrows. “Uh-huh.”

He stands, stretching, walking over to his dresser. He picks up his phone, checks it. He barely glances over to her. Al doesn’t move.

“So,” he mutters, scrolling through the Undernet to see what the outside world has to offer. Nothing for him, from what he can see. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I-I have?” Al messes with her sweater, clearing her throat. She shakes her head, forcing out a laugh, “Wow, you sure are unobservant! I’ve been plenty active—”

“You’re tearing the front of your shirt.”

Al’s face flushes. She looks down, releasing the ripped fabric and clearing her throat. “…Alright. So I’ve been a little, erm… _distracted_ ,” she says. She breaks off into a huff, crossing her arms. “What’s that got to do with you? Why’s it your business, hm?”

Sans shrugs, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “I’unno,” he responds, walking back over to her and taking a seat, “I thought you’d tell me.”

“Excuse me?”

Sans sighs. Leaning forward, he pulls up one of many folders kept on his computer—one labeled “AL”—opening it up. Many files rest inside, labeled from “DAY01” onward, all word documents.

Al pales at the sight of them, whipping around to face the skeleton. “What the hell are you trying to pull, huh?” She demands. “And how did you _find_ this?”

Sans gives her a shit-eating grin. “You’re not the only one who knows how to code. Perks of bein’ a hermit, I guess.”

“You mean a NEET.”

“Fuck _off_ , Al.”

He scrolls down, skimming each document’s title, before settling on an older one and opening it.

DAY457.

_Oh no…_

Al winces as the entry—her entry—fills the screen, small, bold letters stretching on for pages. She doesn’t need to read what’s there. She knows, almost word for word, but she put down.

And oh, Sans is _not_ going to best her at the humiliation game.

She tries to move in front of it, refusing to admit to the inevitable, but Sans moves the document in front of her image, growling under his breath.

“I’m tellin’ ya right now,” he says, “if you don’t tough this one out right now, I’ll just go right into the questions portion o’ this. And I’m sure you’d want to review your—ahem—handiwork before we do that so you can at the least defend your shitty-ass opinions.”

“I—”

Al blinks when the window moves, and she can clearly see the skeleton again. Though he looks down at her with that same, stern expression, she can see the hurt in his eyes.

He knows.

She falls silent and moves away.

Sans settles the document next to her, clearing his throat. He reads…

 

_Day 457,_

_I’m worried about Sans._

_When am I not, though, right? ;; The guy’s nuts, always going off about how nothing matters and stuff—it’s not healthy. And what’s worse, he still hasn’t left the house. It’s been, like, three weeks, I think? And that was only because Metta made him. (Also, update on that whole “roommate” business: Metta is, AGAIN, staying with his cousin. Those two need to figure that shit out—it’s ever other week with them anymore! >:C)_

_And I know it isn’t my place—it never has been—but…he’s been talking a lot about revenge._

_Stupid, yeah, and crazy, considering I have NO IDEA what he means by that. It’s all he says; he doesn’t go into detail, doesn’t say who or why or if they even deserve it, just—just that he wants revenge. Something about justice, or something. I mean, I’d find it funny, him being a “judge” and all (what a joke!), but not after getting to know him. Not after knowing what he’s like._

_He hasn’t eaten in days. He’s been having constant nightmares—and that damn research of his!! >n< _(“By the way, what is with you and emojis?” “Shut up, you bone-fucker.”) _He’s got all these websites saved where he just…reads. Usually it’s stuff on disappearances that happened over a year ago…especially on this one skeleton, Papyrus. He’s mentioned that one a few times, but, I don’t really know much about him. Musta been important enough to him to make him break down like that._

_I’ve tried deleting some of it, but he always finds it, and he gets so MAD when he finds out I messed with “his research.” It’s always that—always research. It looks more like an obsession, to me._

_Though that’s not as bad as…as the other stuff he’s looked up. Just earlier today, I…I saw him looking up this stuff on how to, ah, “put an end to one’s suffering.” So, basically how to dust himself. He almost looked…I don’t know, giddy? It was pretty scary to watch, but luckily I stepped in and distracted him! And he seemed a little better after that (though angry AF, haha! He’s so cute when he’s mad! ;))_

_I’m going to try and look up some stuff to see what I can do without tipping him off that I’m like, intervening and stuff. Otherwise it might be MY dust and not HIS, lol. (bad joke, Al, bad bad bad)._

_He’s comin’ back from the kitchen. Talk to you tomorrow, Diary!_

_-AL_

 

Sans closes the word document, leaning back in his chair, which creaks at his slightest movements. He doesn’t say a word, just stares at the screen, eyes blank, waiting.

Al doesn’t know what to say. _What can I say?_ Fumbling with her hands, she stutters out, “I-I…I’m sorry. I should have—should’ve been upfront—”

“Thank you.”

“I know, I’m a complete annoyance sometimes and I butt in when I shouldn’t, and—wait.” Al’s eyes blow wide, looking up at the skeleton in shock. She pushes up against the screen, Sans flinching back as her voice blares through the speakers, “Did you just _thank_ me?”

Sans covers his ears—or, the place where he would have had any—glaring at the entity. “Uh, yeah,” he snaps, dropping his arms to his sides and pushing his chair away from the girl still invading every inch of his computer monitor, “I did.” He pauses, frowning, crossing his arms over his chest. “What, am I not allowed to thank people now? Do you _really_ think I’m _that_ big of a jackass?”

Alphys groaned, stomping her foot. “It was an _affectionate_ jackass!”

“…Yeah… _sure_.” Sans pauses, glancing over to a long-forgotten drink sitting on the desk. He picks it up, tossing it back and forth in his lap. “Look, I know I’m not the best guy to be around. And I’m not sayin’ I’m gonna stop bein’ an ass—that’s really none of your goddamn concern—”

“That’s fair.”

“—but I get why you’re, uh, _upset_. I guess.” Sans rubs the back of his neck, averting his gaze. “Nobody’s really—I dunno—said anything? About it? I just kinda stay to myself and people just think that’s normal, or whatever. Hell, _I_ didn’t really think anything was wrong with me either—”

“You literally were looking up ways on how to _die_ , Sans.”

“…Good point.” Sans mumbles something under his breath, though Al doesn’t hear him, waiting impatiently. God, this is so stressful…what do I do? “...I, uh…I’ll try to get better? I guess?” He pauses, then chuckles, waving a hand in the air, “I mean, if it’ll get ya to stop ranting about me on my own computer, anyway.”

Al waits. She expects for him to say more, to blow up and yell at her for talking about him behind his back, for making conclusions and coming to a decision before consulting him first, for using his computer for something he didn’t say she could do. But he doesn’t.

Instead, she hovers on his desktop, watching as he spins the drink in his hands, looking conflicted, but sincere. Which is a rarity for him, anymore.

She smiles, grinning wide, throwing her arms up in the air. “Deal! But you _better_ come through and actually try, skele-man—otherwise that _one particular folder we never talk about_ will be sent to a certain ghost who I know will jump at any opportunity for a story!”

Sans pals, jumping up. “Don’t you _dare_ —”

“Then you better stop hurting yourself!” Al huffs, rolling her eyes. Then, she sulks, her expression slackening. “I’d really hate to be all alone again because you went off and did something dumb.”

Sans opens his mouth, searching his brain for a retort, but he comes up empty. “…Right.” He glances to the window, seeing the darkness outside. On the surface, he knows, there’d be stars, but down in the Underground there’s nothing but pitiful black. It makes him miserable. “…Can we talk about somethin’ else, now that we’ve gotten all of that outta the way?”

Al perks up, giggling. “Sure thing, Master!”

“ _Don’t_ call me Master.”

“Riiight. You like Roomie better, I forgot.” Al hums, digging through his computer. She gasps when she comes across something particularly interesting, grinning from ear to ear. “Hohoho! Been building up a playlist behind my back, have you?”

Sans’s expression hardens. “Al—”

“How about we take a look—”

“ _Al_ —”

Al opens the window, unknowingly making a big mistake.

The playlist pops up, and music begins to play—at full volume, as she’d forgotten to turn it down after their little “talk.”

Sans jumps up out of shock, the drink flying from his hands—

—and landing on his keyboard.

A large _pop!_ sounds, followed by sizzling and sparks flying. For a moment, the monitor glitches, Al seeing nothing but darkness and zapping out of existence for a brief second. Panicked, she sends herself to Sans’s phone, her muffled yelp announcing him of her presence.

He doesn’t care about that, though. What he cares about at the moment is the fact that _his computer is fried._

Gritting his teeth, he throws the drink aside, which lands somewhere on the other side of the room, where it will probably stay for some time. He grabs a few tissues from a tissue box and runs them over the keys, trying to save it, but he knows it’s no use. It doesn’t respond.

It’s a goner.

“ _Fuck_.” Sans slams his hand down on the desk, throwing the tissues on the floor. He puts his head in his hands, groaning to himself. “Dammit, _now_ what do I do…?”

Al, listening from his pocket, bits her lip. _Ohh, I’ve done a bad…_ “W-Well,” she chimes in, her laughter nervous and shaky as it forces its way through the receiver, “on the bright side, now we have an excuse to go outside! Isn’t that somethin’?”

Sans lifts his head, his blank stare aimed at the wall. Slowly, he pulls out his phone, staring down at the nervous girl waving back at him.

“…You’re un- _fucking_ -believable.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You _better_ be.” Sans stands, shoving her back into his pocket. He walks across the room, heading for the door.

“Are we going now?”

“No shit, Sherlock. Now, keep quiet—I don’t want to have to replace my keyboard _and_ my phone because you couldn’t leave me well enough alone.”

He leaves the room, slamming the door behind him, unknowingly walking into one of the biggest shit-storms of his life.

 

 [Route =)]

“Sans…Sans, please, calm down…”

It’s half-past midnight. Alone in his room, Sans paces, back and forth, muttering to himself, covered in dust and blood, bathed in nothing but the remains of the fallen and the light of his computer. Al watches nervously as he walks, throwing anything he bumps into and screaming, crying. She has never seen him like this before.

It’s only been a few months, and yet, he’s completely falling apart.

 _What happened?_ She wonders. _He’d only been out for a minute, and now…_

_Crack!_

The computer chair crashes into the wall, breaking on impact and shattering to pieces. Sans’s eye glows fiercely with a blue hue, his skull melting from the heat.

He’s in so much pain.

 _So_ much pain.

“Sans, please, get _ahold_ of yourself!”

Sans whips around to face her, eyes wide and face ghostly pale. His movements come in small twitches and shuffling; his words incoherent, rushed. He stares her down, confused at first, apprehensive, before his attitude switches to accusing.

“Why are you just _sitting_ there?” He snaps, sniffling, flailing his arms as he speaks, “Do you think this’s funny? That this is some kind of _joke_?”

“That _what_ is a joke…?” Al shrinks back, pressing herself against the computer’s wallpaper. _I’ve never seen him like this_ , she thinks. _He’s_ never _been like this…_

Sans doesn’t seem to hear her. He continues on, shuffling forward as though his legs were numb, hissing as he wraps his arms around himself. “You all think…that this is some kind of fucking _game_ ,” he says, his voice rising. “You, a-and that shopkeeper, and that fucking _lady_ down the ways—you all just go about your day like nothing’s wrong! Like nothing…nothing happened to _any_ of them! To _him_!”

“What are you _talking_ ab—”

“Don’t act like you don’t know!”

_Creak…!_

The mattress moves, flips, and slams against the wall. It narrowly misses the desk—misses her—and she screams, cowering away. She shakes, the screen wavering, but she remains. She always does.

“S-Sans…what’s wrong? Why are you—” Her words catch in her throat, and she shakes her head, yelling at him now. “Why are you acting like some kind of fucking _maniac_?”

“ _Me_? What about _you_?” Sans’s eyes are wild, pulsing with magic. He stomps forward, heading her way, and the closer he gets the more she shrinks. “At least I’m not pretending! At least I’m trying to _fix_ this, to do _something_ —”

“So that ‘ _something’_ is you _killing_ people?”

Sans’s expression levels out. His face holds nothing but a blank mask.

Al cries hysterically, shaking furiously, but she doesn’t let that stop her from speaking her mind. She straightens up, screaming, “You seriously think that killing people is going to do _any_ bit of good? Look at yourself, Sans! You’re covered in dust! How many people…how many people have to _die_ for you to realize that you can’t _do_ anything to bring them back?

“That you…that you can’t bring _him_ back?”

Sans stares. And he stares, and stares, and stares.

And then—

_Crack!_

Al gasps when part of his skull—the piece above his left eye—cracks and breaks off, falling to the floor. Sans begins to shake, a wave of magic washing over him, overwhelming the room with a bright, fluorescent blue.

“E n o u g h.”

He raises his hand, a bone appearing above him.

Al’s eyes blow wide. She cries harder.

“ _I’ve heard enough out of you!_ ”

The bone crashes down, and the computer shatters underneath it, the attack protruding right through. The monitor turns back, its screen sparking, wires poking through the cracks and breaks.

Sans heaves breaths, lowering his hand, tears still falling down his face.

“I…I…”

_I…I didn’t…_

_I didn’t mean to…_

_Ping!_

* Your LOVE increased!

His knees buckled underneath him, Sans wrapping his arms around himself as he begins to shake. His body feels like it’ll melt underneath all of his magic.

“…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

He breaks down, curling up on the floor, unable to move. His hands wrap around the scarf on his neck, now tainted with the dust of many, many old friends.

_I’m so sorry._

 

_From behind him, a small, rosy-cheeked child watches, their expression cold, though holding a hint of guilt. They grip the front of their sweater, long ago torn by a bone ripping through their body, swallowing down what little sympathy dares to shine through._

_“I am sorry, Sans.” They say, their voice soft. “But this is what you deserve.”_

_“And until you’ve been punished, I cannot let this end.”_


End file.
